


The Promise of A Shower

by sarahyellow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Steve Rogers, Fuck Or Die, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shower Sex, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 06:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: “They want me to rape you,” Bucky says, voice still sounding hollow and shocked.Steve blanches, or at least he feels like he does. “Buck,” he whispers."We can get out of here. We just have to play along. We just have to convince them.”They both know what that means





	1. Siberia

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains GRAPHIC descriptions of non-consensual sex (in the first chapter only), for both parties involved. If you find this at all triggering avoid this fic at all costs!

_It’s no use. Stop fighting._

The sound of Bucky’s murmured words floats through Steve’s head like static as he regains consciousness. He shakes it from his ears, has to force himself not to panic as he comes to, completely disoriented. The palms of his hands are resting against something cool and rough, the toes of his boots scraping it too. Steve grunts, hears the sound echo back to him in the dark. And he’s vertical, which is weird. He’s standing but he knows that whatever they hit him with must have managed to knock him out for a time. His mouth feels dry.

_Save your strength._

Not that he’d run out of strength really, but standing still and taking in what he can of his surroundings is probably more useful than struggling at this point, since he’s shackled to a wall in the dark, surroundings unknown. Besides, Steve knows that Bucky is in the building somewhere, knows it’s only a matter of time until they bring him. So he relaxes against his bonds, lets the tension out of his wrists and flexes his fingers against what feels like concrete. Concrete walls mean that whatever’s holding Steve in place isn’t magnetic. Just heavily reinforced steel then. Old school. Hmph. 

Steve squints and tries to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but it’s no use. The lights are off and even a super soldier like him can’t see in pitch dark. There’re no windows. He’s deep underground in the complex somewhere, in a rotting Russian basement underneath the Ural mountains. It hadn’t been the original target but it was where the mission had taken him. Steve supposes that Natasha and Sam must be somewhere within a five mile radius, not that that’s going to do him much good now. 

_What the fuck are you doing here?_

They were supposed to be hunting down the last vestiges of Hydra, stepping on scattered agents one by one like the cockroaches that they are. Turns out there’s still a small infestation of them holed up here and lucky Steve: he’s found them. He wouldn’t have risked going in alone but for the fact that it was supposed to have been an _abandoned_ complex—just another place to look for clues to tell them where to go next. Not exactly how it’d turned out. Steve thuds his forehead against the wall, agonizing over his stupid decision to go poking around. Now he’s captured and Bucky’s probably compromised, whatever intelligence he’s gathered in the past three months thrown away. All because Steve had to go poking around. But really, how was Steve supposed to know that _this_ was where they’d sent Bucky? 

Fury should have told them they were working so close to Bucky’s op, should’ve warned them not to go poking around old Russian bases where they’d installed undercover agents. It occurs to Steve that perhaps Fury didn’t know, still doesn’t know. Well, Steve reasons, someone at Shield knows (They’re not really called Shield anymore but nobody’s agreed on a new name yet). This is a screw up that speaks to their fledgling status. After the fall of the triskelion they’ve been working from scratch, purified of Hydra’s influence but incompetent in ways they weren’t before. _Before_ being when they’d had a sixty story base of operations and hundreds of agents on payroll. Now the agency-formerly-known-as-Shield is basically being run out of a bunker, and Steve is chained to a wall with little clue as to what he’s going to do next.

Steve can hear the whir of circulating air. Can smell it through the vents. The air smells old and stagnant, and Steve figures the building is pre-cold war era. When the hell Hydra started using it again is anybody’s guess. It’s possible that this particular location has only been occupied since the fall of the triskelion, perhaps even only since Bucky got assigned to re-infiltrate. Steve doesn’t know why he finds that idea so hard to believe. It’s not as if they’ve had any communication. It’s a nicer thought than the alternative—that they just don’t have their shit together. Or that Bucky hasn’t re-infiltrated: that he’s _reverted._

_I’ll come for you._

Bucky’s mouth had whispered that against his ear before he’d shoved Steve right into the waiting arms of those Hydra goons. It’s the only reason why Steve hasn’t lost all hope. Bucky hadn’t been expecting to see Steve in that hallway any more than Steve had been expecting to see him, decked out in paramilitary gear and spouting Russian to the men in black that came running when Steve tripped their alarms.

No. Bucky hasn’t defected, hasn’t been reprogrammed. He’ll be coming. Steve knows. He knows because he can’t stand the thought of the alternative.

He wiggles his wrists again. The metal cuffs clink where they’re locked but they don’t budge. It may be just steel but Steve is standing flat against the wall and his wrists are at the height of his own face. He’s not going to be able to gain enough leverage to pry away. So he stands still again, listens to his surroundings, takes stock of himself. He’s got his tac suit on but they’ve removed his helmet. He remembers being shot during the aboveground skirmish, and sure enough the pain still flares to life whenever he shifts his weight onto his right leg. He can’t tell if there’s an exit wound, but it feels like the blood has crusted over on his skin, so Steve thinks that it could be healing. Reassuring, until he realizes that that means he’s probably been out for at least a few hours. He wonders vaguely what the hell they’re waiting for. Wonders if anyone is even watching him. Realizes that perhaps nobody knows he’s awake yet. That’s a bonus. Good. He reels in his breath, closes his eyes again since he can’t see anything anyway. 

They’ve taken his weapons, Steve realizes from the lack of weight where his holsters normally are. His shield’s been taken, along with its shoulder mount. Steve’s about to start trying to rub his legs around to see if he can feel if any or all of his knives and grenades have been taken, but before he can the room floods with light. He senses it through his eyelids and opens his eyes to the last flickers of a series of very old lightbulbs coming to life. Their tinny clicks and the electric buzz of the power coming through is still fading as the sound of a door being opened and closed is heard. Steve cranes his neck to see who it is.

 _Bucky_. He wants to say it out loud. Almost does, but just barely manages to hold the name in. Bucky still looks the same as he had upstairs: composed, no bruises or cuts. He hasn’t been roughed up since Steve saw him last. Steve knows that this can mean one of two things. Either Bucky really has been reprogrammed as a tool of Hydra, or else his cover hasn’t been broken. If the latter, then Steve figures he should keep his mouth shut, refrain from making it immediately obvious to any unseen observers that the two of them are, in fact, compatriots. If the former… well if the former then there’s not much point in trying to call him Bucky, is there? 

So Steve waits with baited breath to see what Bucky will do. Bucky just stares at him, hard-jawed for a moment. A scratchy sound invades the room and Steve spies a speaker by the door. A voice barks out something in Russian through the speaker, prompting Bucky to walk across the room to a cabinet and start rooting around. Steve can’t see what’s inside so he takes the opportunity to glance around the room as best he can from his position. With the lights on he can see that the room is small, perfunctory. There’s a metal chair in one corner and an ominously vacant gurney with straps not too far from where Steve is shackled. The floor and ceiling are cement, the walls cinderblock. There’s a camera on one of the walls that looks primitive and like it’s been installed with little finesse. Steve wonders if this Hydra cell is as poorly-equipped as the agency-formerly-known-as-Shield. Worse, perhaps. Steve doesn’t miss how the intercom doesn’t have a button, meaning it’s one way; nor does he fail to notice the drain in the middle of the floor. An interrogation room, then. 

Bucky has finished rooting around in the cabinet. He shuts the doors to it and comes over to Steve. The expression on his face is as perfunctory as the room they’re in and Steve feels a sinking in his gut at seeing it. Bucky does not look like he recognizes Steve. Bucky’s eyes dart back to where the camera is. He tosses whatever he’s gathered from the cabinet onto the gurney. The next thing Steve knows, there’s a metal hand at the back of his head, pushing him forward into the wall. He has to turn his face to avoid having his nose crunched. Bucky doesn’t stop pushing, the inhuman strength of his arm grinding his head against the wall. It smarts where the cinderblock digs into the skin of his cheek, and Steve grimaces enough to show his teeth. “Ah!” he shouts, his eyes squeezing shut. “Stop!” 

Bucky’s leans in, breath a hot puff against Steve’s face. “Open your eyes,” he growls.

Steve does, terrified to look at Bucky and see the Winter soldier again. “Buck,” he can’t stop himself from saying this time. It’s quiet and comes out sounding like a whimper but it makes Bucky hiss _“Shut the fuck up!”_ his eyes furious. 

Steve’s gaze falls down to the gurney. Bucky has dropped a scalpel there, a syringe and a vial, and a box of items Steve can’t identify. Before he can worry too much about what this means, Bucky is kneeling down next to Steve. He tears the seam of Steve’s pants down by where the bullet wound is. He tosses the scrap of Steve’s uniform away and opens the box, uses an unidentifiable bottle of liquid to sterilize the area where Steve’s calf is crusted over in blood. Steve has to abort his effort to kick Bucky across the room when he realizes that the other man is performing triage, not preparing to hurt him. 

“Keep your mouth shut and listen to me,” Bucky whispers, not looking up nor pausing in what he’s doing as he speaks quietly to Steve. He’s got the syringe in hand and is drawing out what Steve hopes is morphine from the little vial. “This has to look real,” Bucky murmurs, ejecting any bubbles from the needle before jabbing Steve with it. There is no care in the motion, no concern for Steve’s comfort. Bucky quickly discards the syringe and takes the scalpel in hand. He finally glances up at Steve, and Steve’s heart soars at the brief flicker of presence in those eyes. It’s not sympathy or love but that’s not what Steve needs to see. Recognition, however brief, makes the grey of Bucky’s eyes look so much less cold.

_It’s still Bucky. Thank god._

“Gotta cut it out,” he tells him. “Hold still.” 

If it’s morphine that Bucky’s shot him up with, it hasn’t had enough time to take effect. Steve shouts as Bucky goes digging around with the scalpel and a pair of tweezers. Bucky manages to pull out a few fragments and that’s how Steve knows there was no exit wound. He’s panting by the time Bucky’s done and pouring liquid fire into the wound to cleanse it. “Fuck!” Steve lets out a litany of increasingly exhausted curses until the drugs start to kick in, then rests his sweaty forehead against the wall. “Ah, shit.” Bucky wraps his leg and stands back up. Steve can hear him putting the stuff away but doesn’t bother to look. With his head still against the wall, Steve asks, “Can they hear me?” He says ‘me’ instead of ‘us’ for appearances, just in case they can.

“Mm mn,” Bucky murmurs. He walks back over to Steve, grips his hair and pulls his head back in a way that Steve supposes is meant to look mean. It is mean. “But they’re watching.”

“What for?” Steve asks.

“I think they want to see what I’ll do. If I’ll remember you.”

So it’s a test then. Steve doesn’t say anything to that. He can feel the pain ebbing away from his leg, his muscles, even from his wrists where they’ve bruised against the shackles. His body feels increasingly like it’s encased in cotton. Whatever Bucky’s shot him up with is strong stuff. Steve isn’t so sure that’s a good thing if they’re going to be attempting an escape anytime soon. 

“I’m waiting for instructions,” Bucky tells him. “They’re going to have me interrogate you somehow.”

Interrogate. Steve knows what that means and it makes his heart race faster. His breaths become shallow like they used to get before the serum, but Steve knows it’s not asthma making his lungs feel tight. Being a superhero doesn’t mean you feel less fear at the prospect of being tortured. Steve is very scared. He cranes his neck to look at Bucky. “Won’t they be pissed you shot me up with painkillers?” he manages.

“Look at the wall when you’re talking to me,” Bucky snaps, the expression on his face still unkind. Steve knows that it has to be that way but it still stings. He turns his face to regard the bland cinderblock in front of himself. “The camera can’t catch your face that way,” Bucky explains, though Steve has figured that much out on his own.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

“They’ll assume it was antiseptic,” Bucky says in answer to his previous question. “I hope.” Steve swallows and finds himself hoping that too. He really is feeling very fuzzy from the drugs. “I know you’re feeling the effects,” Bucky tells him, “but try to act as lucid as you can.”

Steve shivers. “I will.”

The speaker crackles again, what sounds like the same male voice as before addressing Bucky. It sounds clipped; an order. Steve recognizes the Russian word for soldier somewhere in the mix. Bucky turns and faces the camera head on. “Я готов подчиниться” he says out loud, even though nobody outside the room can hear him. Maybe Bucky thinks they can read his lips through the video feed, Steve’s not sure. The speaker crackles again, the voice barking something else at Bucky. Bucky freezes for a moment, his whole body going stiff. Whatever the voice from the speaker has told him, it’s not good. When it almost seems as if Bucky isn’t going to move at all, he finally chokes out an assent—what Steve recognizes as the Russian word for yes, but he doesn’t sound happy. His voice is hollow, shocked. His legs carry him back over to the cabinet like stiff machinery. He opens it up. He spends an inordinate amount of time over there, just staring into the cabinet with his back to Steve. It makes Steve nervous, makes the palms of his hands sweat. 

“What?” Steve demands. “What’d they say?”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately. Steve imagines that he’s trying to think of a way out of having to torture his best friend. What Bucky reveals is far worse. “They want me to rape you,” Bucky says, voice still sounding hollow and shocked. 

Steve blanches, or at least he feels like he does. He swallows and the saliva going down his throat just makes him feel more nauseous. There isn’t enough morphine in the whole of Siberia for this. “Buck,” he whispers. He doesn’t know what he plans to say after that. He doesn’t say anything.

Bucky’s back is still facing him. “I’ve done it before,” he says after a long moment. He sounds like he’s remembering. “Back when they had my mind.” 

Steve shakes his head. “Not your fault.” He feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, can’t tell if they’re angry or sad or scared. Fuck, they’re all three. This isn’t going to happen. Not with them. Not like this. “We’ll make it out of this Buck,” he says, tries hard not to make it sound like a question. This would all be so much easier if he was just free from the wall, could pretend to subdue Bucky long enough to get them to open the door. “We have to make it out of this.”

Bucky swivels. Walks over to Steve. He’s making sure the camera can’t see his face either as he presses against Steve’s back and puts lips to his ear. “I could just refuse,” he says. 

The offer is tempting. Steve wants to say yes, to tell Bucky to do that: give himself away, refuse to follow orders and blow his cover so that they don’t have to endure this terrible thing that’s being asked of Bucky. “What’ll they do?” he asks instead.

Bucky shrugs against him. “Eliminate us. Once they figure it out.” He sounds so resigned to that possibility, like he’ll take execution gladly if it’s what Steve wants.

But Steve can’t ask that of him. His throat feels tight as he says, “No. We can get out of here. We just have to play along. You just have to convince them.” 

They both know what that means. Behind, Bucky’s fingers reach for the waist of Steve’s uniform. “You sure?” 

Fuck no. But the morphine helps, is making the situation seem a little bit less real at the edges. Steve nods at the wall, says, “It’s not rape if I let you, right?” 

Bucky’s breath whooshes against the back of his neck in a huff. “Fuck Steve, how am I supposed to get it up if you say shit like that?”

“Sorry.” Steve wants to say something else to make up for it. Wants to say something about how he loves Bucky. But the time just isn’t right. Bucky doesn’t feel the same and right before his best friend is forced to fuck him is not the time for Steve to confess his unrequited feelings. “I’ve never done this,” Steve says instead, thinks of the camera back on the other wall. “Should I fight you?” 

Bucky curls his fingers over the waist of Steve’s pants. “Yeah. A little.” Then, almost inaudible, “Don’t want to hurt you.”

 _God_. Once again Steve feels like he’s going to be sick. He can feel the wet edges of his eyes, knows he’s close to crying. “You won’t hurt me Buck. We’ll be okay.” Steve wishes he believed that. He feels ashamed when Bucky reaches around to the front of his pants and undoes the fastenings there. Ashamed because he wants to not have to fight. Wants to enjoy Bucky touching him. How sick is that? he asks himself. He thinks that he’s sick. Bucky is going to be forced to rape him and all Steve can think about is how he’d like it under different circumstances. Steve has never felt more selfish. More wrong.

“Steve.” Bucky is whispering from behind his back. “Steve you have to struggle. They need to see.”

Steve gulps, feels a sob working its way up in his chest. “Okay, yeah.” He tenses his body, jerks away from Bucky as best he can as the other man is reaching around and undoing his pants, shoving them down over his ass. From the angle of the camera Steve is sure it looks like he’s pitching a fit to Hell and back, which is good. That’s what it needs to look like. Steve works hard not to let himself cry though, which is what he really wants to do. He wants to mourn that this is how it’s happening between them, but he doesn’t. He grits his teeth instead, throws himself into the role, tossing his head and jerking his shoulders. He can’t let himself cry because he knows Bucky will think he’s hurting him like _that_. For real. That he’s raping Steve and Steve is disgusted and horrified and will be forever scarred by this. 

It's the truth he’ll be scarred, but not like Bucky thinks. Not like Steve knows Bucky will. Steve knows he has to hold it together for his friend if they’re going to make it through this. Bucky’s the one who’s really being raped. He’s the one who’s forced to be the villain now, to touch Steve in a way he would never want. In a way Steve _should_ never want. 

God, it’s so fucked up that Steve doubts he’ll get it up either. 

Bucky shoves Steve’s pants down further, gets his feet at the insides of Steve’s feet and uses his legs and his body weight to hold Steve still in that position, as if he really has to force him. Behind him, Steve can hear and feel Bucky’s breath against his neck. Steve gives another fake gesture of a struggle but is grateful when Bucky cuffs him upside the head. It’s not a brutal hit—with the morphine in his system Steve can hardly feel it—but it’s the excuse Steve needs to stop his pathetic struggle against Bucky’s advances. Bucky has his whole body pressed to Steve’s backside, so Steve can tell when he goes to reach for the fly to his own pants. Bucky’s breath is shaky as he pulls himself out. Steve feels his arm working as he tugs at himself, tries to get hard enough for this. After a few moments it becomes clear that Bucky is struggling. He curses, keeps trying, and Steve’s heart finally wrenches enough that he says, “Bucky…”

“Don’t talk,” Bucky murmurs, obviously trying to stay in his own headspace. “I just, give me a minute. Christ.”

“I can help you,” Steve tries, feeling humiliation roil in his stomach as he admits, “I don’t mind. I…want you to touch me. I’ll enjoy it.”

Bucky’s stroking ceases. He wraps his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Steve’s head and pulls back. It’s gentle but to the camera it probably looks rough. “Whatever you want, Stevie,” he says in Steve’s ear, almost tender. “What do you want?”

Steve swallows, steels himself to say, “I want you Buck. Always have. Just didn’t figure it’d be like this.”

“You serious?”

Steve dies a little inside, figures Bucky must be disgusted with him right now. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll shut up.”

“No.” Bucky’s fingers grip him tighter, in his hair and at his hip. “That’s not what I—”

“—we don’t have a lot of time,” Steve interrupts. “You gonna fuck me or what Barnes?”

Bucky is quiet for a moment. Steve can practically hear him thinking. At last, Bucky moves. He reaches into his pocket, pulls something out. Next thing Steve knows there’re cool fingers at his entrance and he’s tensing. “Relax,” Bucky says against him, and Steve can hear how his voice has changed, how Bucky now _knows_ what this is to Steve, or at least what it could be under better circumstances. The shame of it makes Steve’s face burn. “I said relax, Steve,” Bucky says, his voice gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Steve tries to do as Bucky says. Tries not to clench up as he can feel Bucky rubbing his fingers around his asshole. But it’s hard. No one’s ever touched Steve there. What’s happening now is something he’s only dreamed of in secret before. Bucky is touching him in his most intimate place, and God help him, but Steve gets a little bit hard at Bucky’s voice rumbling in his ear as he does it, telling him to relax. His fingers are wet where they rub him, and Steve realizes that Bucky must’ve found something in the cabinet to ease the way. Steve has a rush of affection so great for Bucky it hurts. Even now, forced to do this, Bucky is thinking only of Steve. Of how best to take care of him. “I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs again when Bucky’s finger pushes into him. 

“Stop apologizing you great mook.” Bucky thrusts his finger shallowly, getting Steve used to the feeling. “I want to make it good for you but they can’t see.” Steve can’t believe his ears. His breath feels frozen in his chest. Bucky works his finger a little more, gets it in further, adds another and hears Steve’s hiss. “Sorry. I can’t take it as slow as I’d like.”

“‘As you’d like’?” Steve grunts. He’s so confused. He knows now isn’t the time to try and get Bucky to clarify, but it really seems like he’s saying, like he could be saying…

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. He pumps his fingers, stretching Steve too quickly. “I can’t kiss you either. I can’t be gentle Steve.” Steve feels like Bucky _is_ being gentle, _has_ just kissed him, with words like that coming out of his mouth. “It’s gotta look real right now, so I’m not gonna give you the third degree, but you should have told me Steve,” Bucky chides. His fingers curl and touch a good spot and Steve can’t keep his grunt in. “We _will_ be talking about this later.”

Steve’s got his fingers grasping at nothing, his nails scraping on the cinderblocks as he jerks his body once, pretending to struggle again. Bucky’s metal hand leaves his hair, pushes against his back to flatten him to the wall. “Hold still,” he says, and Steve moans a little because he loves hearing him say that. The rough treatment isn’t really rough and it gets Steve harder, Bucky’s body so close behind his own gets him harder. Steve wishes Bucky would stroke him off, wishes he could see Bucky’s face. Behind, Bucky’s fingers pull out leaving him vacant and clenching on nothing. It’s a strange feeling, being left empty where he wasn’t before, and Steve finds himself having to curtail the urge to stick his ass back for more. He’s supposed to be fighting this, after all. 

“Want you to tell me,” Bucky says, voice nearly hushed as he slicks himself up, puts the head of his cock where Steve can feel it, right against his entrance. “Want you to tell me everything.”

Steve grunts when Bucky penetrates him, the blunt head of his cock so much bigger than two fingers. It hurts, and Steve knows that it could be so much better. He wants it to be so much better. “Ugh,” he pants, trying to stay calm as Bucky presses into him, cock sinking deeper, spearing him open. “What?” he asks stupidly. He’s forgotten what he’s supposed to be doing, can’t think about anything but the place where he and Bucky are joined. 

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Bucky repeats himself, pulling out a little, making Steve whine. “The next time we do this. How will I touch you?” He fucks into Steve, a real thrust, and Steve groans at how achingly full it feels. Bucky has his cock in him, deep in him, and Steve cannot believe he’s actually taking it.

“Oh!” he shouts when Bucky thrusts again, surprised to feel his body adjusting, loosening up for Bucky. “Oh Bucky.”

Bucky’s metal fingers grip the fabric of Steve’s suit at his back, his other hand comes up to grab his neck. Just another way for this to look like rape when it’s fast becoming something else entirely. “Come on Stevie,” Bucky urges him, hips pumping in a slow rhythm. He’s hard as steel inside Steve, not struggling to perform now. “How am I gonna touch you, huh? Imagine it.”

Steve groans, his eyes screwed shut because he _is_ imagining it; Bucky laying him down on a bed, undressing him, coaxing him to hardness. “My cock,” Steve says, “touch it. Touch me all over.” He kind of means right now but he knows that Bucky can’t. This isn’t supposed to be about Steve’s pleasure. 

“Yeah? We’ll do it somewhere nice right? In the shower when we get back? Can make the water hotter than Hades like you like it. Wash all the dirt and sweat off. I’ll soap you up under the spray. Stand behind you just like this, and I’ll jerk you off. How’s that sound?”

Steve groans, because that sounds fucking fantastic. Bucky is still fucking him, speeding up now that Steve’s body is letting him in easier. And it doesn’t hurt anymore and Steve is so glad. Instead it feels full, and hot, and Bucky sometimes rubs his cock inside in a certain way; hits something good. It’s enough for Steve to be hard and bobbing in the air, nothing to rub on. “Want to rub up on you when you’re all wet and slick,” Steve says, thinking of how Bucky would look with all his skin bared, all soaked hair and water-slicked muscles. “And I’ll kiss you. Stick my tongue in your mouth. Kiss your cock too.”

Bucky growls at that, fingers tightening marginally on Steve’s neck. “Yeah? You’ll get down right then and there, suck me off on your knees under the water?”

“I’ll do anything for you Bucky.” Steve breathes it out as just another thought, another truth. But he can tell that it hits Bucky hard, can feel how it makes his breath catch, his hips stutter. 

“God,” he groans, “Stevie.” He buries his nose in the back of Steve’s neck, holds both of his hips hard enough to bruise. “I’ll make you feel so good. It won’t be like this. I’ll take my time with you, I swear.”

Even though he’s being rough, and it’s fast and not at all like this fantasy the two of them are piecing together, Steve is aroused. He’s so hard and so hot, and he _does_ feel good, needs Bucky to know that. “You’re not hurting me,” Steve gasps, Bucky’s hips slapping the skin of his ass with each thrust now. “I’m hard. So fucking hard. Wish you could see. Wish you could—” Steve’s words choke off in a gasp at the sharp pinch of Bucky’s teeth on the back of his neck. He’s biting him, clenching down and marking him and smearing spit against Steve’s skin. “Oh, Bucky. Bucky _please_.” 

Bucky makes a sound of agreement, says into the tender skin of Steve’s neck, “You think you can come on my cock? Just like this?”

Steve makes a pathetic whimper of a noise, desperate to do that for Bucky, to show him how good he makes him feel, how much Steve loves having him inside his body. “I don’t know,” he cries out, his hips working on empty air. “I want to.”

“Come on,” Bucky goads, still leaning into him, his body big and heavy and pressed right up against Steve’s. His hips never stop working, drawing his cock in and out of Steve’s ass. He slaps Steve’s face in another show of brutality, and even though it’s for show and the slap hardly connects, Steve moans something fierce at the idea of it. “You like that,” Bucky says in wonder, brings a hand around Steve’s torso to scratch fingernails over his belly. His fist finds Steve’s cock and tugs once, twice, providing friction for only a second but it’s enough. Steve starts to come, his hips jerking rhythmically into the grip of Bucky’s hand. He shoots against the wall and the floor, messy and white. 

Bucky’s back to being harsh the second he knows that Steve has found release. He pins him against the wall with his metal hand, pressing Steve’s face into the cinderblock, gripping his hair. Steve grunts in discomfort but they both know that this is how it ends. If they’re going to get out of here then this still needs to be the Winter Soldier, violating Captain America. It cannot be the lovemaking they both imagine. So Bucky fucks him, hard enough and fast enough as to be called brutal. There’s no doubt that it hurts Steve somehow, but Bucky doesn’t last long anyway. He comes with a shout, pulling out and getting it on Steve’s ass in the most degrading fashion that he can manage. Steve sags against the wall when Bucky pushes away from him, a sob that sounds just a little too real leaving his throat. 

Bucky swallows, feeling lost. He knows who he has to be when he turns back to that camera. Knows what he has to reduce this to. But first he tells Steve, “This isn’t over. I’ll get you out of here. And we’ll talk. And we’ll have that shower.”

Steve is panting, can’t exactly turn around to face Bucky when he answers, “Promise?”

Bucky smiles. Neither Steve nor the camera can see it. “I Promise.”

He makes a show of spitting on Steve then. Hates himself as he does it. He reaches to smear his come over Steve’s ass, then smacks him there. Steve whimpers but says nothing else. This is how it has to be. Bucky fixes a convincing scowl on his face and does up his pants. He walks back to the door and knocks three times and waits till they let him out.


	2. Brooklyn

They make it out of the base. It isn’t easy, but with a few appropriated grenades and a lot of dead bodies, they manage. Bucky knows the area and Hydra better than Steve does, so Steve listens when he suggests they head into the forest for cover. They walk for an entire day and night before reaching the other side. It’s an entire day and night where they hardly talk. At first Steve chalks it up to Bucky being hurt, and mission-oriented. They need to find Sam and Nat before they die of hunger or thirst, after all. 

They do find them, watching the jet land neatly to pick them up and take off again. The ride home is long and silent. Sam and Natasha seem to pick up on the mood between Bucky and Steve, and they isolate themselves in the cockpit. Perhaps they think Bucky and Steve will need the privacy of the cabin to talk or something. They’d be wrong. Bucky sits himself on the opposite side of the hold and doesn’t say a word. He hasn’t said a word since they emerged from the forest, having chosen to keep himself as far away from Steve as possible—a trend he seems intent on continuing. Steve can’t stop looking at him. He aches to say something, _anything_ , and he starts to several times. But each time he tries, Bucky is staring off into space and has his features set to stone. As disheartening as it is, Steve decides to leave it alone and not say a thing.

They land at Stark Tower and debrief. Steve hails a cab to take him and Bucky back to the Brooklyn townhome he’s been occupying for the last two years. Bucky’s never been there but he follows along and gets in the taxi, as he doesn’t seem to know what else to do with himself. They settle themselves in the backseat of the cab. The driver—a young Indian man—stares weirdly at them through his rearview mirror. “Captain America?”

Steve frowns. “Uh, yeah.”

The man looks alarmed. “Sir, do you need to go to the hospital?” 

Steve supposes he and Bucky must make quite the picture, all bloodied and dirty and still in their tactical gear. Bucky looks like a mussed assassin who's wearing several of his kills on his uniform and Steve… well Steve looks like Captain America after a very rough day at work. “No,” he tells the cabbie, glancing up to see that the license clipped to the air vent reads _Dopinder_. 

“But your friend is bleeding on my seat?” Dopinder says, sounding unsure. 

Steve glances over and sees Bucky scowling at a knife wound that’s reopened on his forearm. Steve bites his lip and looks back up to Dopinder. “We’re just headed home.”

“Well… okay Mr. Captain.” 

Steve gives him a weary smile and tells him his address, and they’re off.

-

Steve closes the front door and turns to see Bucky walking around the first floor, looking things over. Steve’s lips quirk. “Well?” he asks. “What do you think?”

Bucky keeps looking around for a few minutes longer, opening all of the doors and examining the windows. When he’s made a full circuit he says, “The building isn’t very secure. Tactically it’s horrendous. Too many lines of sight from the street, not very defendable. Stark Tower would’ve been better.” 

Steve shrugs. “I like the built-ins.”

Bucky scoffs. 

Steve wants to say something about how distant Bucky’s being, but instead he goes into the kitchen, goes over to the fridge and opens it. There isn’t much inside. He pulls out a still-wrapped Subway sandwich. He’d bought it before the Siberia mission, which means it’s going on four days old. It’s questionable, but he unwraps it and splits it down the middle anyway. Bucky takes his half without complaint and the two of them wolf their portions down at about the same pace. 

Steve throws the trash away and turns to Bucky, who’s moved over to the kitchen table. “Let’s go upstairs, yeah?” he says. “Get cleaned up.” He starts heading for the foyer but when Bucky doesn’t follow he turns back around, question on his face. “Bucky?” he says gently.

Bucky just grunts. He’s pulling things from his body, unloading all of his various knives and guns onto the kitchen table. “Have to clean ‘em,” he says, sounding angry. 

Steve winces. “It can wait.”

“No it can’t Steve!” Bucky yanks one of the kitchen chairs out, starts ruthlessly disassembling one of the handguns. “You can’t leave them dirty. You _can’t_. You have to clean ‘em.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. Bucky’s not even looking at him, all of his attention on his assortment of weapons. Steve turns and heads upstairs, feeling lost.

-

He sits on the bed and waits, determined not to let this silence continue to stretch between them. When Bucky finally appears in the doorway to Steve’s room, he looks surprised to see him sitting there, still in his uniform. His face squinches. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he asks roughly, walking into the room and going to untie his boots. “Why’re you just sitting here?”

“Stop it Bucky,” Steve interrupts him, voice firm but quiet. “Just stop. You don't have to do this.” 

Bucky turns back around, on edge. “What?” he snaps.

Steve stands from the bed and walks over to Bucky. He doesn’t miss the way that Bucky tenses, but he doesn’t let that stop him from coming close, from staring him down with far more tenderness than Bucky’s looking at him with. Steve’s already figured out that Bucky’s checked out. He doesn’t intend to let him get away so easy. Steve steps up close, puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder even though it makes the other man wrinkle his nose. 

“You stink, Rogers.”

Steve looks at him imploringly. “It’s over, Buck. It’s gonna be okay now. _We’re_ okay.” 

Bucky’s jaw clenches. He looks torn. “You so sure about that?”

Steve smiles sadly. Instead of answering he steps back, nods at Bucky to indicate his body. “You’re filthy and you’re hurt.”

Bucky scoffs. “Like you aren’t. Dope. Sitting up here on the bed.”

Steve sighs, but he smiles a little too because he can hear the slight give in Bucky’s tone. “Strip,” he orders, leaving no room for argument. To make it fair, he starts to pull off his uniform as well. Bucky takes a second or two longer, since he hesitates and since his gear is more complicated, but in a few minutes they’re both standing there, naked as the day they were born. Something in Bucky’s muscles, some piece of resistance, gives way. His shoulders relax and his eyes lose that cold, dead assassin look that he’s been wearing since Siberia. “…Steve,” he starts.

“Turn around,” Steve orders him, though it’s a gentle sort of order. Bucky listens, turning around so Steve can look over all of him. “Jesus Buck. You’re bruised all to hell and back.” It’s true. Too many places to count on the other man’s body are bruised, abraded, cut. He looks like shit, and Steve tells him so.

It earns him a laugh as Bucky turns back around. “You don’t look so great yourself, Rogers.”

Steve glances down to his own body. He’s dirty, sure, but not hurt nearly as bad as Bucky is. Almost all of his injuries had healed by the time they landed at Stark Tower. Only the gunshot wound remains, and by this point it’s faint. “I’ll live,” he mutters.

“Guess it’s payback, huh?” Bucky says.

“What?”

He indicates Steve’s barely-injured state. “Your scrawny ass. Could always beat you at everything, before. Figures you’d be the one to get the better version. S’the universe, paying you back.”

Steve grins. He knows Bucky is referring to their serums. “Tough luck, bud.”

Bucky snorts and turns away, heading into the bathroom without another word.

It’s only as Steve is leaning half-into the shower to test the temperature of the water that he feels Bucky’s hands land on his back, and he knows one’s flesh and one’s metal, but it’s funny how he barely feels the difference. Steve glances over his shoulder. Bucky is looking down through his eyelashes, hesitant. “Are you hurt at all?” he says, voice so quiet that Steve can hardly hear it through the spray of the water. “From what I… what I did to you?”

Steve’s heart breaks a little at the look on Bucky’s face. He looks unhappy. Guilty. “Oh, Buck,” Steve says, sorrowful. He turns around and straightens, pulling Bucky into his arms. He doesn’t care that they’re both naked, hardly even thinks of it. Bucky doesn’t push away, and Steve holds him. “No,” he says into Bucky’s hair. “No, I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

Bucky nods, breath hitching. Then a sob breaks through, just one, and he falls into Steve, pressing his face against his neck and squeezing him tightly. “God, I’m so sorry Steve. I’m so sorry.” His chin digs into the bone of Steve’s shoulder and Steve can feel his tears on the skin there.

“Shhh.” He rubs his hands over Bucky’s back, over skin and scars and metal plating. “It’s okay. We’re both okay. I’m not mad Buck, I swear. …I love you.” Bucky quiets at that. He sniffles and pulls back and looks Steve in the eyes. Steve gulps. “I just… thought you should know.”

“Fuck.” Bucky shakes his head. “Me too Steve. I do.” He smiles, but it only takes seconds for that smile to pinch off into something sad and regretful. “But _Steve_ : I hurt you. I fucking…” he grits his teeth, “ _violated_ you. And that’s _not_ okay. It’s—”

Steve shuts him up with a kiss, or something resembling a kiss, leastways. It’s really more just a smashing together of mouths so that Bucky can’t finish his sentence. Steve doesn’t even want him to finish the thought. “ _No_ ,” he tells him roughly once they’ve parted and Bucky’s left panting in front of him. “You did what you had to Buck. We both did. You _saved_ me.”

Bucky shakes his head, looking very much like he wants to disagree with that, but Steve doesn’t want to see him blame himself or tear himself apart over what’d happened between them in Siberia, and he doesn’t want Bucky to go silent again. He doesn’t think he could take that. He just wants it to be over. He just wants Bucky. Gently, he reaches for Bucky’s waist, holding him there and kissing him once more, only now it’s soft and shallow; a tender, coaxing thing. “You remember what you promised me?” he asks him. “Remember what you said we’d do, once it was all over?”

Bucky blinks at him, clearly remembering after a few seconds, if his darkening expression is anything to go by. “…'Hot as Hades',” he murmurs, tentative still. Maybe he’s doubting it now, wondering if Steve still wants that or if he’s been put off from Bucky for good.

Steve decides to clear that right up. “Yeah,” he says, curling his fingers over Bucky’s sides. “Come on.” He uses his grip to pull him along into the shower. Bucky goes willingly.

-

They wash each other, Bucky rubbing suds all over Steve and then Steve returning the favor. He’s careful of Bucky’s cuts and bruises, but he still uses the opportunity to be close to him, to feel his body underneath his hands and appreciate the way he looks, all wet and soapy. He takes great satisfaction in washing Bucky’s hair and hearing his grunts of approval. Once he’s got it rinsed, Bucky turns back around and guides Steve to face the wall. “Put your hands on the tile,” he instructs quietly. 

Steve shudders, but obeys. He remembers what Bucky had said, about stroking him off in just the same position, only in the shower. It seems that Bucky has remembered as well. There are no manacles this time, but Steve holds himself there all the same. He listens as Bucky grabs a bottle from the shelf and flips the cap open. It’s the baby oil that Steve uses as moisturizer. The next thing he knows, Bucky’s behind him again, pressing the warm bulk of his body against Steve’s back and reaching around with his flesh hand. Steve is already half hard from when they washed each other, and so Bucky’s hand easily finds him, wraps around him and pulls, the oil slicking the way. “Oh,” Steve hisses, fingers curling against the tile of the shower wall at the feeling of being caged-in by Bucky’s body, of being touched by him like this. He relaxes into it. “Oh Buck. Yes.”

“Yes?” Bucky repeats, chin hooked over Steve’s shoulder and breath right against his ear. He kisses the shell of it. “This what you wanted Stevie?”

Steve’s eyes clench shut at that. Bucky hasn’t called him Stevie since he came back to him. All these months and not once has he said that. The fact that he says it now means more than he’d realized, and Steve can feel how his eyes burn with the threat of tears. “Fuck,” he breathes, feeling Bucky’s fingers squeeze him and start to work him harder as Steve firms in his grasp. “Yes. Yes I want it. I want it all, with you. Everything.” Bucky hums appreciatively into his skin, tucking his face into the join of Steve’s neck and shoulder to bite him there. It’s light—just a scrape of teeth, really, but it makes Steve whine like a girl and thrust into Bucky’s fist with a tremor. “Oh, please. Please Bucky.”

Bucky licks where he’d bitten. “Please what?”

Steve grits his teeth, feeling overwhelmed. “Please, don’t stop.” The steam is surrounding them, hot and thick all around them, trapping them in their own little world of heat and water. And Bucky’s firm and real against his back and his hand is— _god_ —his hand is just perfect. He thumbs over the head and squeezes at the base and works him in fast jerks to wring the pleasure from him. Steve makes punched-out sounds and digs his nails against the tile, refusing to move his hands from where he’s been told to keep them. He wants to be good for Bucky, wants to be so good for him and oh, he wants to come. “Yeah,” he moans, hips moving against the hold Bucky has on him, thrusting into the squeeze of his fist. “M’gonna come like this.”

“Yeah?” Bucky sounds aroused at that. “You close baby?”

“Guh.” Steve can’t believe how much he likes hearing Bucky call him that. “Yeah,” he gasps, closer still. He grinds his forehead against the wall, body going taut as he feels the pleasure crest, tightening in his gut and making him gasp. He freezes, gasping and shaking in Bucky’s arms as he comes and comes, the feeling more intense than he can ever remember it being. It’s amazing, it’s perfect because Bucky made him do it. Bucky loves him back.

Steve turns and grabs Bucky’s face in both hands, tugs him in with strength that he’d thought had left his bones and kisses him. He kisses him the way he’s imagined it a thousand times, putting all the love and loss and meaning into it that seventy years has built up. When his tongue enters Bucky’s mouth, Bucky _moans_.

“Aw, Jesus Steve. So perfect for me babydoll.”

Steve feels like he melts a little bit, blearily wonders how long Bucky’s wanted to call him that. _Babydoll_. It just flows out of his mouth like it’s 1939. Like he’s always thought of him that way. Steve’s heart lurches at the possibility and before he knows it he’s sinking to his knees, instinct and lust and the memory of what he’d promised he’d do all swirling in his mind, making him want to suck Bucky’s cock. 

Bucky gasps and his hands fly to Steve’s hair. He whispers, " _Steve_ ", as if he can’t believe it, but that’s all he gets out. He only makes breathy, pleased noises and holds Steve’s head like something delicate. Steve sucks him gently, learning the feel of him on his tongue and in his mouth. He’s heavy and full, dominating Steve’s senses. He tastes like nothing but the shower water that Steve licks off. When Steve swallows him down as far as he can, he moans and grips Bucky’s thighs, feeling how the muscles clench there. Above him, Bucky is cursing and groaning, making all the same sounds that he used to make when the girls came over and Steve hid under his covers so that Bucky could get some. It makes a thrill run through Steve to hear Bucky make those sounds now, to realize that he’s the one who elicits them now, the one who gives Bucky pleasure. Steve works harder, wanting to feel how Bucky tenses and stutters when he comes.

It doesn’t take much longer, soon Bucky’s fingers are tightening on his head and his hips are moving even though Steve is sure he’s trying to be still. Steve sucks harder, brings a hand up and works Bucky with that too, and when Bucky yells and spurts against his tongue, Steve swallows like he’s been given a gift.

-

Bucky winds up hefting him up and pushing his back into the shower wall. He leans against Steve, trusting him to take his full weight as he recovers, panting into his skin. “That was…” he gulps a breath, turning his face towards Steve’s neck. “So good.”

Steve smiles, running his hands over the muscles of Bucky’s back. “Yeah?”

“So good,” Bucky repeats tiredly. He sounds utterly sated, and that makes Steve smile too. 

“I love you,” he says, quiet and unconcerned if Bucky says it back. Bucky hums into his shoulder and squeezes him tight, and Steve knows what it means. “Come on,” he says after another moment, knowing how exhausted Bucky must be. Neither one of them has slept for nearly two days now. “Let’s get dried off. Go to bed.”

Bucky hums again. “Yeah,” he agrees after a long moment, separating himself from Steve and getting out of the shower. He looks about as jelly-legged as Steve feels, which makes that satisfied feeling rise in Steve all over again. “Here ya go.” Bucky hands a towel over to Steve. They only half dry off before they go into the bedroom and climb under the covers and conk out. Bucky’s snoring within seconds, and Steve falls asleep to the thought that he’ll show Bucky how much he loves him again when they wake up.


End file.
